


speak now or forever hold your peace

by midnightsnapdragon



Series: Nostalgia [20]
Category: Lunar Chronicles - Marissa Meyer
Genre: Carswell's Improvised Guide on How To Interrupt Your Ex-Girlfriend's Wedding, F/M, Getting Back Together, Modern AU, Soap Opera
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 13:36:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14895579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightsnapdragon/pseuds/midnightsnapdragon
Summary: Cress had never been afraid of love, had embraced it with all the joy and pain and peace and chaos it brought to her heart. But he'd been terrified of it. Of her. Of the power they had over him, together.Two years after Carswell Thorne abandons his friends and the love of his life to travel the world, he returns to find that she didn't wait.





	speak now or forever hold your peace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lovelunarchron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelunarchron/gifts).



> ... whose support and commentary has encouraged me to keep writing over the years. LLC, I know I haven't written Cresswell in ages, so here is something that I hope you'll like.
> 
> Please note that modern AUs of the soap opera brand are not my forte.

**i.**

Carswell Thorne had screwed up.

Well, that was nothing new. He screwed up all the time, and almost never paid the consequences. It was part of what made him a good businessman: the ability to slither out of a jam that might ruin his reputation or worse, funnel money out of his wallet rather than in.

But this was different. He had screwed up something precious. And for maybe the first time in his life, he wanted to fix it.

"Come on," he muttered, pressing the doorbell for the seventeenth time in a row. The way through the city to Cinder's apartment was so deeply fixed in that part of his brain that turned to her in disasters big and small that he'd come here almost without thinking. How many times had he shown up in the middle of the night with a bloody nose and a sheepish smile to camp out on her couch? "Come on, Cinder, open up -"

"All RIGHT!" came a muffled bellow from inside the apartment. "Seven hells, SHUT UP! I'm coming!"

Thorne grinned and stood a little straighter, adjusting his pilot's jacket snugly over his shoulders. _There_ was Cinder that he knew. He hadn't known how much he'd missed her until he heard her voice.

She was one of Cress's closest friends. She would know what to do. And even if she boxed his ears for what a douche he'd been - well, he would deserve it, wouldn't he?

Footsteps thudded through the apartment, the heavy gait of someone used to wearing work boots. "All right," someone growled, "whatever idiot is here at five in the goddamn morning is going to -"

The door swung open, and Linh Cinder stood there in worn shorts and an oversized T-shirt, a familiar sarcastic angle to her brows. When she saw who'd woken her up, the annoyance vanished from her face, replaced with astonishment.

Awkwardly, Thorne gestured at his face with both hands. "Something on my chin? Sauce, maybe?"

"You _asshole,"_ she said, and threw her arms around him. And then they were hugging and laughing and somehow he ended up on the other side of the door, which she kicked shut with her bare foot.

Then she pulled back and slugged him hard in the shoulder, through the jacket. Thorne yelped and clutched his arm.

"Jeez, what have you been lifting?"

"Two years, Thorne! Two years of - of cryptic postcards and weird emails where none of us have any idea what you're doing or why you left and now you come back at the crack of fucking dawn and all you can say is _'sauce on my chin'?"_ She threw up her hands. "What the _hell?"_

He winced. "I messed up. I'm sorry."

"I know you are," she grumbled. "But I'm not the one who needs to hear …" Her eyes widened. _"Shit._ Thorne, you have to go."

He blinked. "But I just got here."

"Yeah, and as usual you couldn't have picked a worse moment to show up. Go and come back at a more reasonable time like, oh, I don't know, noon?" Cinder yanked the door open again and tried to shoo him through it. "Go!"

"But why -"

"What's going on?" said a sleepy voice.

Thorne sucked in a breath and glanced into the shadowy apartment. Beside him, Cinder slumped, letting the door fall shut.

 _"That's_ why."

Cress was leaning in Cinder's darkened bedroom doorway, her nightgown slipping off one shoulder. She yawned, rubbing at her eyes with the heel of her hand, and he remembered guiltily that it was in fact five A.M., even as he itched to back out through that door and disappear for another two years. However long it would take Cress to forget that he'd left her, that she had ever loved him at all.

But then Cress's hand fell away from her face and she squinted through the gloom at Cinder and Thorne standing by the front door. Recognition flashed and faded in her eyes. She froze.

Thorne swallowed. "Hey, Cress."

Emotions chased each other across her face like frightened rabbits. She opened her mouth, shook her head slightly, and closed it again.

"This," Cinder muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose, "is why you call ahead."

"Ah." An awkward pause, before Thorne said in a strangled voice, "Sleepover?"

"Yeah."

Another silence as Cress stared stricken at Thorne and his eyes darted around the apartment to avoid meeting her gaze. Between them, Cinder looked as though she'd rather take a wrench to her prosthetic hand than be in this position.

Finally she asked Cress, "Do you want me to make him leave?"

Cress shook her head.

"Do you want me to punch him, at least?"

"No," Cress whispered.

"Fine," said Cinder. "Then I guess I'll leave you to work things out because _someone"_ \- this with a scathing look at Thorne - "didn't stick around long enough to work it out before. Cress, feel free to boot him out at any time."

With that, Cinder turned and marched back into her bedroom.

And then they were alone.

"Where have you been?" Cress said softly.

Thorne glanced up at her. She was watching him steadily through the gloom. At some point in the past two years, she'd shorn off her tangle of blonde hair, leaving it to curl around her chin. He wished it were still his place to tell her how much it suited her. The nightgown left her legs bare down from the knee, duckfeet and all, a sight that made him swallow.

She had never been afraid of him. There had been a time when she'd been shy, almost as painfully awkward as he felt right now, but she had walked fearlessly into love without breaking stride, and pulled him bumbling along with her.

Until Thorne had begun chafing against the feeling of being tethered, and disappeared with his piloting license and a hasty international business plan. Until he'd left her with a stiff farewell and a series of impersonal postcards to remember him by.

He cleared his throat. "A bit of everywhere." And forced a laugh. "You should have seen the kind of crazy drinks they served in Vienna - goat balls, I think. And all the stray cats would have broken your - "

Her eyes shone briefly with pain, and he stumbled over the words.

"- h-heart."

Cress had never been afraid of love, had embraced it with all the joy and pain and peace and chaos it brought to her heart. But he'd been terrified of it. Of her. Of the power they had over him, together.

But maybe this time - maybe now it would be different. Maybe if he showed her the person he'd become, how much he'd agonized over that last goodbye, maybe they could start again, and this time he would do it right.

He would be worthy of her.

"What about you?" he asked, finally meeting her eyes. "What have you been doing?"

Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Same old, I guess."

 _I miss you,_ he shouted into the ensuing silence. There was nothing more he wanted to do than sweep her into his arms and spin her, laughing, around the room, bonking his head on all of Cinder's light fixtures, and yet here they were, two people who could barely look at each other. _Cress, can we begin again?_

But she wasn't listening; she was kneading her hands, rubbing the fingers of her left hand into a fist.

The sight of it tickled unpleasantly at the back of his mind, whispering: _something's off … something happened while you were gallivanting around the world … you're too late ..._

"Did Cinder tell you everything?" she asked quietly.

"What?" he said, unsettled. "Oh, sure. Of course."

Cress moved as if to rub the sleep from her eyes, but stopped, still clutching her left hand in the right. "It's just … it's been two years, Carswell. Two years and not a word!" Abruptly, she let go and clutched the fabric of her nightgown in both fists. "And it might have been better if you'd just _gone,_ but you just pretended everything was okay and didn't tell me why you left or … or what I did … and you kept sending those stupid postcards!"

Thorne grimaced. "Okay, I admit the postcards were in bad taste. But, Cress - " He swallowed. "I want to ask you - if we could start … over …"

He trailed off. Because he'd finally glimpsed what she'd been trying to hide: on the fourth finger of her left hand, a ring sparkled in the dim hallway.

"Start over?" she echoed. "Just like that?"

Thorne couldn't answer. An icy, leaden weight had dropped through his chest and through his shoes, and it took him a moment to realize that it was the thing that was supposed to beat under his breastbone. The thing that still belonged to her, despite all his attempts to wrest it back.

_Did Cinder tell you everything?_

"Carswell …" She shook her head, with a small regretful smile. "I think we should at least talk first, don't you? Work through what happened - what you did," she corrected herself. "You have a lot to answer for. I don't know … maybe, in time …"

She was trying to let him off easy, Thorne realized dully, dragging his eyes away from the ring. _Maybe in time,_ she would say, _we can be friends again._ But it was too late. She had moved on, had found happiness with somebody else … he would spend the rest of his life torturing himself at night, wondering what might have happened if he hadn't been so _stupid_ …

Friendship was impossible. If he had ruined her love for ever, who was to say he wouldn't ruin that, too?

"Yeah, that's fine," he heard himself say distantly.

"Okay," said Cress, smiling. "Could we catch up in the afternoon, though? I have church in a few hours and I kind of need to sleep."

Right - it was Sunday morning, and she would join her Ukrainian Orthodox congregation with ribbons in her hair. Once upon a time, he'd imagined attending with her, shaking hands with her father Dimitriy. But that would never happen. He'd thrown it all away -

"No," he said.

She blinked, the smile slipping. "What?"

"No," he repeated, looking at his shoes. "Sorry. I shouldn't have come here. I'll leave you alone."

Cress drew back, brows drawing together in resentment. "Don't do that. Don't flip like that. Why did you come here if not to - to reconcile?"

He waved a hand, feigning nonchalance. "What's the point? All our friends will probably never speak to me again anyway - "

"That's not true," she said, her cheeks reddening with anger. "You haven't spoken to anyone in two years, how do you know what we think of you?"

"I can probably guess." He turned to the door, hating himself, hating the all-too-casual tone of his words. "I'll see you later, Cress."

"Carswell!"

He glanced over his shoulder, chest contracting painfully at the sight of her dishevelled in the nightgown.

"Will you …" She hesitated, appeared to throw one last line of hope. "Will you at least come to the wedding?"

The ring glingted tauntingly on her left hand.

"It would mean a lot to all of us," Cress went on. "Scarlet and Wolf, and Cinder, of course. And Jacin."

And even though he had never known so much regret in his life, he _had_ to raise his eyebrows at that.

"Okay, probably not Jacin," she conceded, awkwardly. "But it would mean a lot to me." She started to wring her hands again, nerves and frustration in every motion. "Will you come?"

"Sure," he said coldly. "Count on it."

Then he stepped into the hallway beyond and let the door swing shut behind him.

**ii.**

That night, he got a text from Cinder:

1000 HOURS, MILLENNIUM GARDENS, MAY 24th.

No caption. No invitation. And by that omission, the message was clear: _You can come. Or not. The choice is yours._

Millennium Gardens, Thorne thought, staring down at the phone screen in his hand. The bridal banquet hall with a sprawling orchard and a gazebo that was overrun with flowering vines every summer. A dream come true for Cress.

And then he realized: May 24th.

Two days from now.

He fell back against the wall, finding that his legs would no longer support him.

**iii.**

_"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of the stars …"_

Thorne paced in front of the oaken double doors, wrought with ornate designs that were probably meant to signify holy union or eternal soulmateship or some such poppycock. He wrung his hands, and swore under his breath, half-listening as the priest (not _officiant,_ he knew; Cress was Orthodox, and her groom would respect that or they wouldn't be marrying in the first place) began the ceremony.

He paced and paced and paced, ignoring the people milling around him in the grand marble hallway, who kept giving him odd, pitying looks.

He hadn't asked Cinder who the groom was. He was afraid it would be someone he knew, or worse, someone he liked. The stars only knew he'd never imagined marrying her - it felt too domestic, too constraining, too stifling … but he'd never imagined this, either.

And here was his very last chance.

Could he let her go? Could he live with himself, if he ruined this day for her? Cress was a dreamer, a romantic; he might have once found the idea of weddings cheesy and vaguely repugnant, but for her a wedding day was magical, a day for good luck. He shouldn't jinx it by bursting in and proclaiming his love. It was too late for heroics like that.

But he couldn't live with himself knowing he'd walked away, either.

What if there had been a mistake? What if she still loved him?

Thorne tiptoed up to the doors and pressed his ears to the wood:

_"Now that the bride and groom have given themselves to each other in solemn vows …"_

Wha- Had they skipped the line? They'd skipped it! The priest was supposed to say "Speak now or forever hold your peace" - that was supposed to be his cue! Come to think of it, it was kind of obsolete -

Damn it, he'd been thinking too long!

_"I now pronounce you husband and - "_

Thorne flung open the doors, the word roaring up out of him.

_"STOOOOP!"_

There were gasps as heads turned toward him, a crowd of men with gelled-back hair and women with poufy feathery things on their heads. In the front row, Cinder and Iko swivelled around to give him furious, scandalised looks. The priest at the end of the aisle gaped in shock. But Thorne had eyes only for the bride as he jogged up the aisle, his heart hammering in his chest.

"Cress, I'm sorry I left, but I have to tell you that I - love you …"

He stopped halfway up the aisle, the words dying in his mouth.

Cress's jaw had fallen open as though she'd been smacked over the head with a frying pan. And then, impossibly, her face lit up in the most blinding sunlight grin he'd ever seen, her hand bunching in the dark blue fabric of her bridesmaid's dress in a familiar motion.

Next to Cress, at the altar, Scarlet was a vision of fiery hair and white frothy gown, Wolf looming as usual in a groom's tuxedo, staring at Thorne just like everyone else in the room.

Both of them looked ready to murder him.

"You blind fucking idiot," someone hissed in his ear, and then Thorne felt himself yanked aside into one of the pews and forced to sit. Mutters and embarrassed whispers had flooded the church.

"Sorry," Thorne blurted out to no one in particular, when it seemed they weren't going to forget about him and just continue. "Wrong, uh, wrong couple. I mean" - with a nervous smile at Scarlet, who narrowed her eyes - "you _are_ the right couple, perfect for each other, and all. But not … the one I objected to."

"Anyone else?" the priest said helplessly into the silence.

Cress looked away from Thorne, her cheeks pink, biting her lip to keep from smiling.

"I thought she was getting married," Thorne whispered to the man who'd pulled him aside, as the priest finished his sentence and Scarlet and Wolf crashed together in a dizzying kiss. The whole congregation exploded in cheers. In the front row, Iko cupped her hands around her mouth and whooped.

Jacin, who still had a deathgrip on Thorne's wrist as if afraid he'd somehow manage to interrupt what was left of the ceremony, scoffed. "Yes, that's patently obvious. She's Ukrainian Orthodox, remember? They wear their rings on their _right_ ring fingers."

Thorne groaned, tipping his head back. "God, I'm a moron."

"You think?"

But Thorne couldn't bring himself to feel guilty. Cress looked like a blushing flower, glancing back at him even as she was swallowed up by the other bridesmaids and he lost sight of her in the crowd. He'd done it - he'd told her he loved her, that he was sorry. Even if it was in the most ostentatious, dramatic way possible.

"If you ever break her heart again," Jacin muttered through the noise of celebration, "I'll break both your arms."

Thorne patted his knee. "If I ever break her heart again, I'll totally deserve it."

He should have known that it was _never_ too late for those kinds of heroics.


End file.
